“I -- what?”
“You heard me.”
“Yeah, and I guess I’m not sure which surprises me more.”
Knuckles grunted again.“The fact that you have your own fridge, or the fact the girls bothered to stock it?”
“Both, I guess.”
“See you soon.”The call disconnected.
“Expect them to drop by often because our women can be mother hens.”Rancor continued the conversation as we turned onto a narrow, paved but crumbling road that cut between abandoned warehouses.“They won’t let you suffer in silence, no matter how often you tell them to leave.They don’t get their feelings hurt with big, surly bikers, but oddly, they usually know when to back off before they get irritating.It’s the weirdest fucking thing.”
That got a laugh from Tiny.“My two hellions haven’t figured out when to back off.Don’t expect they will either.”
“Oh, your girls know where the line is.They simply refuse to let a little thing like an imaginary line in the sand stop them.”Rancor’s grin said he enjoyed the show on more than one occasion.
I thought I might see irritation in Tiny’s expression, but instead I saw fondness and pride.Tiny loved whoever he was talking about.Likely loved the fact they didn’t stop when they should.The revelation settled something else inside me and my respect for the men grew a little more.
“Why?”I asked softly.“I feel like I’m bein’ set up or some shit.Most of you guys don’t know me, and the few who do know I ain’t a kind man.”
“Club takes care of its own,” Rancor said quietly.“Whether our own want it or not.”
Something twisted in my chest -- not pain exactly, but its close cousin.Why would anyone prepare for me?I was nobody to these people.The club had changed since I’d been a member.I doubted anyone knew me from anywhere but Terre Haute.Maybe not even then.The idea that someone had thought about what I might need, had taken time to prepare for my arrival didn’t compute with the world as I understood it.
“Don’t need special treatment,” I managed, voice rough.
Tiny chuckled, a deep, low rumble.“Ain’t special, brother.It’s baseline.You’ll see.”
The Kiss of Death compound emerged from the industrial wasteland like a fortress.Which was exactly what it was.Camo netting stretched between warehouses arranged in a defensive square, breaking up sight lines and confusing surveillance.I counted four visible cameras covering the entrance alone, probably a dozen more I couldn’t see.Smart setup.Defensible.And it was designed to keep people out.Not to hold them inside.
Tiny slowed at a reinforced gate.A guard in a booth nodded recognition, and the gate slid open.We rolled through to a big warehouse well away from the entrance to the compound.
Knuckles stood waiting at the inner entrance, arms crossed over his chest.He was built solid, heavily muscled but leaner and shorter than Tiny.
Tiny parked the truck in front of the warehouse, cutting the engine.I stepped out of the cage, feet planted firmly on the gravel.The air smelled of motor oil, leather, and something delicious cooking.
“Good to see you breathing free air,” Knuckles said, extending his hand.
I took his hand, the handshake brief but firm.His eyes held mine, assessing but not demanding.He didn’t try to establish dominance through the handshake, didn’t pump my arm or crush my fingers.Just a simple acknowledgment between equals which surprised me.Even if I were technically still part of Kiss of Death, Knuckles, as the president, outranked me significantly.
“Appreciate the welcome,” I said, the words coming easier than I expected.
Knuckles nodded, seeming to understand all I wasn’t saying.“Let’s get you settled.”
He led the way through the compound, Tiny and Rancor falling in behind us.A few club members moved about their business.They looked up as we passed, nodding respectfully but didn’t approach.
“Bottom floors of the outer buildings are club business,” Knuckles explained, voice low enough that only I could hear.“Upper floors are apartments for patched members.Inner buildings are all living quarters.
“Hannah, my woman, assigned you a unit in the east building, second floor,” Knuckles continued.“Quieter side of the compound.”
Knuckles stopped at a door at the corner of the back side of the building.He handed me a keycard.“Room’s yours as long as you want to stay.Old ladies will make sure you’re stocked.Don’t ask them to do your laundry.They will shank you.”
That got a bark of laughter out of me when I hadn’t expected to feel like smiling so soon.“I appreciate the place to crash.”
“No thanks necessary.”
The apartment was simple but far larger than any space I’d occupied in nearly four decades.A main room with a couch and coffee table.Small kitchen area with actual appliances.A window overlooking the compound below.
